


Jeeves and the Newly Minted Relations

by adrunkgiraffe



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life, Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: (as do all the woosters), AU where Bertie and Tommy are twins, Bertie Coolatta, Black Mesa Sweet Voice, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Competent Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LISTEN I HAVE THOUGHTS, M/M, Nightmares, Partial Nudity, Period Typical Ableism, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Tommy Has Powers, and for comedic purposes, but only very briefly - Freeform, listen, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27463285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrunkgiraffe/pseuds/adrunkgiraffe
Summary: Jeeves has always wondered why so little is known about his employer's parentage. Now he finally learns why. Also, Tommy Coolatta has a wild time in England.
Relationships: Benrey/Tommy Coolatta, More TBA - Relationship, Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. A Visitor at Berkeley

An intrepid reader of my works - if I might be so bold as to presume one such person exists - might oft wonder what led to the creation of such a specimen as Bertram Wooster. Some have, in fact, pondered that query at the specimen in question as if he were some kind of newt in a Fink-Nottle aquarium. Usually walling off knowledge in re the s. In q.’s presence at the time. On most occasions, I have rebuffed such inquiries after the origin of  _ Woosteris Bertramus _ . I was raised by hand of aunt and valet mostly, and so the circumstances around the old b. are largely inconsequential - if that’s the word I want - and not such as befits the proper Gentleman. As such, direct relations have been omitted from my - and I will have to check with Jeeves that I am spelling this right -  _ oeuvre.  _

All of this changed during a bally confusing month this past spring during which I managed - to the delight of the Drones Club Record keepers - to achieve a whopping four unwanted engagements simultaneously. What’s more, said unwanted engagements were, by indirect means, heaved upon the Wooster back willingly. Not that the u.e. Were in any way desirable, they being titularly - if that is a word - unwanted, but rather to fetch one’s closest companion from the soup before he realized his own folly.

The whole rummy affair started on a crisp night, roundabout the witching hour. Bertram was ensconced firmly in bed, brandy and soda ensconced firmly at bedside, and Jeeves resolutely un-ensconced as he glid around the residence partaking in Nocturnal Jeevesian pursuits. I was having a rather corking dream - though what about is escaping me right now - when the proverbial sugarplums smacked against my face with the dashed trilling of the doorbell. I shut my eyes and trusted Jeeves to turn out nighttime visitors, keeping especially quiet in case of Aunts. 

However, where I expected to hear stern tones and a polite yet firm closing of the door, I instead heard much hushed tones, one struggling in that matter much more than the other, but in a rather familiar way, with the added shock of an American accent. My brain stopped short as dulcet Jeevesian speech gave way to shocked and incredulous - if that’s the word I want - repetitions of phrases I could not quite make out. 

Jeeves had just finished saying “I’m sure you must be mistaken, as to my knowledge Mr. Wooster  _ has no brother.”  _ When the Wooster corpus ambled, tired, confused, and curious, swaddled in bedclothes, out into the main room. There, eyes alighted on Jeeves, whose stuffed frog face was accompanied by an odd confusion and consternation. Then on a large yellow-white dog, whose eyes betrayed a recognition not shared. Finally they alighted upon the nighttime visitor, a tall chappie, rather thin of face and bright of eye, topped with a pinwheel hat, explaining said consternation on part of Jeeves-

“ _ Toddy?”  _ I exclaimed in sudden recognition, lurching forward with newfound vim towards my twin and taking him in my arms. 

“Hi, Birdie!” Smiled Toddy. 

“Well, what are you doing here so late at night?” I examined my twin brother in full, making note of any injuries upon the mirrored form. 

“It’s late?” He cocked his head, brain probably mush from days at sea. Such was the way of Toddy’s brain to be rummy full of the grey matter in his work or in knowledge, but drying up when asked the time or faced with lessons in manners. 

“Round about midnight old bean. What brings you to the metrop, anyway?”

“Well, I was on my way to Aunt Dahlia’s-”

“At this time of night, she’d be pipped and turn you out of doors!”

“Well we-we needed to sneak me in. Or at least that’s what Dad and Dahlia thought.” His expression turned uneasy, and I remembered the whole business with Agatha upon his graduation. Dashed awkward, that. 

Now, during this whole conversation, both of us were rather caught up in the joys of reunited family. Normally, the Wooster corker is rather focused and observant, sharpened to a point. The Toddy mind even more so. However, in all the joy I must admit that Jeeves, usually a vital presence in the mind, for his necessity in my health if nothing else, fell slightly by the wayside. That was, until we heard a rather un-Jeevesian noise like someone had been strangling a cat. Looking over at him, the lack of Jeeves-iness increased, as behind his stalwart face rested a confusion and fear never before featured on that face in response to the garish-est of dinner jackets. 

“Pardon me, sir,” His voice quivered, imperceptible to all but yours truly “But may I ask who this is?” He gestured to Toddy, whose head quirked again in its way.

“I told you already, I’m Tommy.” Toddy wasn’t one to rebuke, but he was one to question.

“Toddy’s my twin brother, Jeeves.”

“Your...twin...brother…sir?” This was, if Jeeves will permit it to go to print, the one and only time I have seen him not only flabbergasted and pique, but flummoxed alongside it all. 

“Of course! Don’t you see the resemblance?” I stood beside Toddy and gave my spiffingest of grins, trusting my twin to do the same. Jeeves looked like one of those  _ spectre  _ things. Barely able to get out a “Terribly sorry, Sir…”, more of a gasp, the poor man fell to the floor like a fainting maiden in one of those romances. 

Now this description is, while charming, not  _ entirely  _ fair to old Jeeves. Stalwart and unbending as he is, you can imagine the communal shock and awe when twins and dog saw the sturdy Valet fall to the floor. See the business was, the man had just gotten us back from a  _ sojourn  _ out to the Travers home, and, while he didn’t  _ show  _ it, the exertion of the affair was likely weighing on him in a way only the good 6 hours horizontally was going to fix. Not to mention, though Jeeves is by no means a thinned out kind of fellow, he does at times feel a bit of the pash when faced with unfamiliar dress, and, for one such as Toddy, all dress is unfamiliar. It was likely the pinwheel hat spinning around atop the old bean’s head that truly dealt the blow what felled the Jeeves, in addition to the notion his knowledge of the young master had a gap. 

This, of course, was my fault. While absenting mention of my brother dear in these missives is well within my rights, I also had a dashed awkward forgetfulness when it came to mentioning he and father to old Jeeves. I suppose I just assumed, what with the book of the Junior Ganymede and his  _ thing _ ness, that he already knew. Come to think of it, I really do wonder why neither of them are in the Book. They are, in spite of it all, still landed gentry.

I explained as much to Jeeves as Toddy and I set him up on the couch. Were he in fitter state at the time, he likely would have objected, but it seemed the swoon had set in, as he barely even pushed up against my hand on his shoulder. Toddy was at his other side, apologizing already. The large dog, sweet thing, came to rest on his feet. 

“Such were also my thoughts, Sir. I had assumed that if you had such a sibling, it would have been taken down in the club book.” Better directly as he always is, his gaze suddenly sharpened on a thought “Though it does perhaps answer another curiosity I have long held about certain pages missing from that book.”

“Pages missing? I thought that was unheard of for that hallowed tome of yours.”

“Oh on almost all counts yes. The one exception has been a slight tear near the beginning of your entry. However, since the damage to the book is so slight, and yours begins a new page with no indication of previous matter, I always assumed it irrelevant.”

“That probably got taken out when Dad and I moved to America.” Toddy supplied helpfully.

“Yes, Mr. Wooster, very likely.” 

“Oh, no, I’m not a Wooster.” Toddy corrected.

“Sir?”

“I’m a Coolatta. So is my dad. Actually that might also be why we’re not in the book.” at this, Jeeves looked like he might faint again, though he pushed through with all the feudal spirit he could muster.

“Forgive me Mr...Coolatta...but could you perhaps explain further?”

“Ah, perhaps I should.” I stepped in, hoping to console the shattered valet. “See, our father is an...eccentric sort. Likes science, plays with reptiles, all that, most people think he’s nutty, actually. But he had this fixation that both of us should  _ choose  _ to which family we belonged. He asked us what surname we wished, Toddy pipped out “Coolatta!” and yours truly was amenable, so we became named thusly.” The gears Jeeves’ cranium seemed to be moving at top speed, poor chap. Quite far were we from any sense he could make.

“But...Mr. Wooster…”

“Ah, yes, well. When Father and Toddy left for the colonies, I entered care of my Aunts, and, well, Agatha had always been a bit peeved at Father’s decision, so she changed it back.”

“I see.” Jeeves looked the picture of ponderous meditation, but stopped short of asking in favor of shaking off proffered hands and returning to his floatation round the domicile. I considered a ‘steady on,’ but knew it would be rebuffed out of feudal spirit, so such statements were mewled in favor of further interrogating Toddy as to what in bally heaven he was doing at Berkeley in the middle of the night.

“Now, Toddy, you say you’re on your way to Brinkley, but here you are, dog and all, in my residence.” I leant back into my chair with all the casual thingness I could muster. “What brings you here, flesh and blood?”

“Well, actually, the thing is.” Toddy ran bony hands through fur in a morose sort of fashion, “Aunt Dahlia told me that. Angela’s really allergic now, so I can’t bring Sunkist with me to the manor.” His voice quavered a bit. 

“Well why didn’t you- wait- Sunkist? Wasn’t that the name of that dog you had when we were boys?” I took a second gander at the lug loping over to Toddy and realized it was, in fact, the spitting image of the very same dog. “Toddy, don’t tell me you  _ replaced-”  _

“It’s the same dog.” He said it with a certain  _ thingness,  _ as if all was obvious and I was the fool for  _ not  _ thinking the dog was still alive 20 years later. 

“The same dog?”

“Yeah. I told you I made him to be the perfect dog, Birdie. He’s gonna live for a long time.”

“Oh. Rather. So, you want me to look after the old thing while you sup with the relations?” 

“Is that okay?” The rummy thing of Toddy is he has a way of illustrating a frown with just his voice. So though Bertram - not to mention Valet thereof - were both tired beyond the capacity of dog care, I could not deny Toddy any more than I could deny the extortions and threats of furious aunts. 

“Yes quite, Toddy. I’ve also a spare room, if rest is what you require.” 

“No, I’m fine. My friend is waiting outside the building, so I can’t anyway. You should go to sleep though, Birdie, you look tired.”

“Yes...that would be the thing.”

“I...I think that Mr. Jeeves should get sleep too…” I heard a clattering in the kitchen that signalled both that Jeeves was listening, and that the poor codger had heard gentleman refer to gentleman’s gentleman as ‘Mr. Jeeves.’ This might have spurred a cruel streak in me that one might not like remarked on, to reply a bit more loudly and clearly than strictly needed. 

“Yes. Yes I rather think he should.”


	2. Off To Brinkley!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy Coolatta and his valet/bodyguard/friend, Benrey, take a soothing midnight drive up to his aunt's house at Brinkley Court.

As I step down the stairs of Birdie’s apartment building, smiling at the doorman as I leave, I can’t help but feel like something’s weird. First off, I feel kind of bad about making Mr. Jeeves faint. Second off, it’s dark and cold, and I’ve learned not to like that. Third off, I feel confused that Birdie didn’t recognize Sunkist. I know he has memory problems, but Sunkist is Sunkist! 

I’m not quite paying attention as I nearly fall into the automobile that my aunt hired for me. Benrey looks at me as I right myself. In the muted light, I can only make out the barest hint of his face. 

“Yo, Tommy! Careful. Almost hurt yourself.” He pushes me back, arm stiff and voice muted. “Your dad might get pissed and, uh...cut me off if you do.” Benrey likes to pretend he only cares about me because he’s paid to, but he only ever spends his paycheck on board games, which I end up buying anyway. “How’d yer brother take it?” 

“He agreed to watch Sunkist!” I cheer as I open the door, still shifting with tired relief. “But I uh...well I think I uh...I made Birdie’s friend pass out by accident…” 

“Woah, for reals? Wack.” His voice went all breathy and hitched, “Just fucking. Conked out on the floor? What did you do?” I look over at Benrey, who has now fully turned to face me, one leg on the seat and the other safely away from the pedals. 

“I-I dunno! I only told him who I was and that I was Birdie’s brother!”

“Ah shit. Man down, credit Tommy. Play of the game.” Benrey says weird things when he’s excited.

“Yeah....” Maybe I’m just upset ‘cause of the dark, or the sugar high from my dinner pop is fading, so time’s slowing down. “Let’s just go to Dahlia’s.”

“Ye’re the uh, boss man Tommy.” Benrey grins. He’s usually easier to read than most people, and he doesn’t get angry when I guess wrong, but sometimes his moods just don’t match other people’s. I think about this in the dark as I wait for him to climb into the backseat so I can scootch in front of the wheel, and then for him to tumble back into the front next to me. 

“Ready?”

“Eyyyyyyyeah.”

I hope it won’t be too dark on the road ahead.  
\--  
We don’t reach Brinkley until the early dawn light is just creeping over the trees in pink rays of molasses. The staff hasn’t woken up yet, so when we knock on the door, it takes a while of loud noises for Uncle Tom to reach the door, rifle in hand. 

“Who is it? Whaddya want?” He huffs out, jabbing the point of the rifle into my chest before a hand comes from beside him, pushing the mouth of the weapon aside. 

“Now, honestly, Tom, you’ll put someone’s eye out with that thing. You nearly shot your own nephew!” She gestures emphatically at me, willing the sleep to fade from Tom’s eyes. 

“Blast, it Dahlia-” He stops short, thankfully, and his expression shifts into a smile, “Oh, Toddy! What are you doing here?” He reaches out to shake my hand and I let him, used to the contact by now. Me and Uncle Tom get along okay, especially when we’re not getting mixed up. 

“Oh uhm. Well-”

“Tom, you buffoon, we’ve been planning his arrival for a month now.” Dahlia swats at him again. “And none too soon, after the mess Bertie left yesterday.” She turns back to me, a smile on her face. “Angela’s in a bad way about that latest snap she had with the Glossop rotter, and it’s making her a touch hysteric.”

“I’m sure that’s not-” I begin, wanting to stick up for my cousin.

“I’ll explain more in a bit but why don’t you go and get yourself situated. I can have the under butler help your…” She looks over at Benrey and her eyebrows narrow. “Valet? With your things?”

“Uh. Oh, Benrey’s just a friend!” I reassure her, but her eyebrows narrow further.

“But Gilbert said he would be sending you with ‘help,’ and his. Clothes.” She pauses, and even I can tell she’s uncertain about something.

“Oh I’m, ah, his bodyguard, so it’s kinda, uh...both” Benrey cuts in. “I, uh. I’m fine with the servant’s quarters or whatever. Won’t be sleeping much, anyway.” He smiles, and Dahlia seems to take his word for it. “Oh, and yeah I’ll uh. Move some a’ these too.” He picks up our luggage and moves off before I get a chance to ask any of my questions. 

“Now, you must be famished.” Dahlia takes my arm “I had Anatole pre-cook the eggs the way you like them, and I think he put together some sausage, too. I even had someone go into town for a spot of soda last night, since you insist on it.” I trust that Dahlia’s not making fun of me as she leads me into the dining room, sitting me down right next to her and in front of a plate loaded with the few foods Anatole knows I like. I remember the gleam in his eyes when I was little, seeing my lone, untouched plate of his latest creation and declaring my palate a worthy challenge. I like to think he meant it.

Dahlia has already begun telling me about cousin Angela’s engagement problems, and so I stop my reverie and start listening.

“She’s been pacing back and forth in her room all night making a huge racket along with a list of benefits and drawbacks to the engagement that would reach to the ground from the second story window. And I’m not surprised to say the drawbacks side goes much further.” She says the last bit under her breath. 

“Oh.” I say simply, having learned by now to let her finish speaking. 

“If it were simply her desire to break the engagement off wholesale, I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t fault her for it at this point, but she’s in such a tizzy debating with herself, it’s unlike her. Your brain’s much better in the immediacy department than your rotten brother, so I’d rather like you to help.”

“But...Birdie’s not-Birdie’s not rotten, Aunt Dahlia!” I object, a little horrified. She sighs a little. 

“I’m only kidding, Toddy, really.” I don’t think she is. “Honestly, it was him- or, rather, Jeeves, that solved the dissolution itself but, because they fall apart so regularly, I suppose she’s just scared that their relationship is so frail.” Her elbows rest on the table, like she and Agatha always used to yell at us for doing, and her hands come to fidget with the napkin. “Jeeves is a terribly smart man, but his ways are so subtle, and Bertie has a way of talking around everything, so I rather thought that you might be the best one to help Angela decide whether to let old Glossop go or not.” At the second mention of the name, I tense up a bit, finally remembering who it belongs to. 

“Uhm... Aunt Dahlia?” My hand grips the fork, the elaborate spines of the silver digging into my skin, agitating and grounding me at the same time. My gaze becomes locked on the plate in front of me, eye contact more vexing than normal. 

“Yes, Toddy?” 

“Which uh..which Glossop is this? Is it uh...Tuppy Glossop?” 

“Oh, yes I do think that’s the nickname Bertie uses. Honestly, he uses such odd familiarities, though I do suppose it’s an improvement over Hildebrand. Why?”

“He isn’t uhm. He isn’t here right now is he?” 

“What? Oh no, the blighter took off in a huff when he overheard Angela talking to me about this. Rotter. Honestly, if Angela weren’t so unsure, I’d have half a mind to break the engagement off myself.” I steel myself. Tuppy isn’t the worst of Birdie’s friends but he’s also not the best. 

“Toddy...Thomas...are you okay?” Dahlia doesn’t come much closer, but her use of my full name lets me know she’s serious. I put on a bright smile. 

“Oh! I’m fine auntie! He and I just don’t get along and, ah, it would be-would be easier if he didn’t see me talking to Angie so he didn’t get-get paranoid because of uh, my involvement!” I explain without looking up to see her dubious expression. 

“Well alright. Now, Angela only just got to sleep a bit before you arrived so you shan’t disrupt the poor girl until after dinner. Though I’ll imagine you want to sleep the day away as well, given you’ve been driving through the night.” 

“Oh, I’m not tired Aunt Dahlia, honest!” I’m actually telling the truth as I polish off the last of my eggs. “Plus, it’s proven that sleeping too late can upset your, uh, your circadian rhythm, and it makes it harder to get a good night’s rest afterwards!”

“Well, no nephew of mine is going to be toiling on no sleep, regardless. You’re restricted to light ambling and reading only. No letting Tom drag you into the study for help with the books.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to, uh, write in some extra money for Milady’s Boudoir?” I risk a sidelong glance at her face to see a warm smile on it. 

“In time I might, but for now, rest.” She stops me from clearing my plate, gesturing emphatically for me to go up to my usual bedroom. 

When I get there, Benrey is haphazardly shoving my clothes into various drawers, but he stops immediately and grins when he sees me, perching at the edge of the bed with one of my pinwheel hats clutched in his hands. 

“Hey, bro. What’s goin on?” Now that we’re in private, his sclera have gone all yellow, and his grin is more toothy. He floats a little. 

“Uh... apparently I’m supposed to help Angie decide if she wants to still be engaged? I don’t know.”

“Oh shit. Romance drama.” Benrey’s eyes widen, before he leans back “Can’t relate, but rough.” I refrain from pointing out the one person to set him off. 

“Me neither.” I sit down on the bed next to him, fatigue setting in a little bit. 

“It’ll uh...probably be fine, though. Like, you’ve probably got this, bruh.” 

“Yeah.” I wish I felt as confident as he does “Probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I dunno how this became what it is, but hoo boy am I in a Mood about it.  
> 2\. I dunno how I missed my own schedule one week after setting it.  
> 3\. If you are a Wooster-only fan I don't know how to apologize to you for Benrey just know that I am so sorry.


	3. An Explanation for Jeeves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves ruminates on some discomfort. Bertie ruminates on his past.

In the past, I have remarked that the formula for success in the role of a gentleman’s personal gentleman consists of resources and tact. I do, truly, believe this formula to be a reliable one. However, incidents this past spring have made it evident that this explanation might be too simplistic to properly prepare a prospective valet. 

One is, after all, at rare occasions, faced with scenarios in which one has fewer resources than previously thought, and the acquisition of said resources flies in the face of tact. 

It was in this same scenario that I found myself as I entered Mr. Wooster’s room the morning after I made the acquaintance of Mr. Coolatta. I will admit, I suffered an entirely unacceptable lapse in decorum at the initial discovery. Much as my employer oft lauds my sang-froid, I am, after all, merely human, and there is only so much that a body can take. 

It is to this that I attribute the odd sense of imbalance I perceived between myself and Mr. Wooster as I placed his morning tea on his bedside table, silently so as not to rouse him before the requested time. This may seem the height of obtuse observations, as our relationship as employer and employee is, by its nature, imbalanced. However, I have always found that my role in extracting Mr. Wooster from, as he would refer to it, “the soup,” using my superior intellect to guide him towards the correct solution, has evened our relationship to a certain degree. He would preside as lord of the house, but I would eternally hold the proverbial key ring, having mapped each twist of it in my mind. 

Now, however, I had turned a corner and found, where once there was a wall, had now appeared a door which, when opened, revealed to me a long hallway, the key which my master had kept a jealous secret. With no map, I was forced to rely on his knowledge to guide me through it. 

Perhaps, then, it was envy that fixed my tired gaze so firmly on my employer’s dozing countenance. The mid morning sunlight transformed the young master’s hair into a halo, and softened his closed lids to an expression of the utmost luxurious contentment. One might attribute this contentment to a dearth of mental capacity, ignorance being, to the mind of the poet Gray, bliss. However, feeling, for the first time in my life, ignorant myself, I could not wholly believe the poet, nor my previous assessment of my employer. 

I could have stayed, considering this revelation of a new source for Mr. Wooster’s sanguine disposition, but it was at that moment that I realized that, in spite of my best efforts, Mr. Coolatta’s dog - which, apart from its considerable bulk, had the patterns of a golden retriever - had alighted upon the bed. I found this particularly vexing as I possessed a distinct memory of restricting the hound to a spare room I had prepared specifically for those instances in which Mrs. Gregson requested that Mr. Wooster watch after her own dog, who had a habit of barking when things contradicted his owner’s...particular worldview. This meant either that...Sunkist, I believe Mr. Coolatta called him, had escaped his confinement, or that my fatigue was enough as to restrict even my eidetic memory. 

I attempted to shoo the beast off of the duvet, knowing the breed to shed in bulk. However, he would not listen to reason, merely lifting his head serenely and staring at me before resolutely returning to his own slumber. I was about to employ persuasive force, when my employer’s voice startled me. 

“He’s fine there, Jeeves. He used to drape himself between mine and Toddie’s beds when we were boys.” I looked up in shock to see Mr. Wooster glancing at me with a serene kind of comfort, and, more unsettlingly, a sort of amusement directed at me.

“Yes sir. I was merely worried that, if the dog is of the breeds which shed, it might be prudent to-”

“Oh, no worries on that count, old fruit. Sunkist isn't the type.” 

“I see sir.” I paused to erase any quaver from my voice, having been mistaken again. “Thank you for the clarification, as the similarity in its coloration had led me to believe the dog originated from the golden retriever breed, well known in Scotland-.”

“Oh, he is, a golden retriever that is.”

“Sir?” In spite of my best efforts, my voice did shake a miniscule amount, having been denied the comfort of expounding my knowledge so as to prove its existence in addition to the discomfiture of my master’s statement. 

“Well, based on one at least. Toddy made the corker when we were boys, but father would only let him if he promised not to cause more work for the cleaning staff. Ergo, no shedding.” He explained it in such a confident and plain manner about him that, in spite of his unbelievable words, I was forced to believe him nonetheless. 

“I see, sir.” I assured him, desperately turning the statement over in my mind to decipher it, “Might I ask what pushed Mr. Coolatta to take such an early interest in dog breeding?”

“Oh- no, sorry, Jeeves, it wasn’t through breeding. Well, not of that sort, anyway. No, Toddy made Sunkist, you know, part by part and all.” Mr. Wooster’s brows furrowed, as though he himself was confused. The feeling, I regret to say, was mutual.

“...Sir?” The upwards lilt in my voice seemed to surprise us both.

“Well, you know, Jeeves. The old Wooster-Coolatta estate has long been home to a vast array of dogs, so he assembled the pieces, biffed on the glowing eyes act, and whiff, bam, bingo, there was Sunkist, draped in the fur of the finest and not shedding a lick of it on account of the terrier in him.” The confidence with which Mr. Wooster ended the sentence remained for only a short dalliance as he took in the unconcealable confusion on my face. His eyes widened in abject shock.

“I say, Jeeves, you don’t mean to tell me you, of all people, have never heard of this eccentricity of the Woosters?”

“I regret to say not, sir…” I lowered my gaze in shame, finally caught out in my sheer ignorance. 

“Well I suppose that’s understandable, as it is kept rather under wraps, but I assumed at least that the household staff must talk. I mean to say, you’re so smart, I half believed it was a peculiarity you shared!” As I struggled to decode this last part, Mr. Wooster settled back into the pillows, heaving out a delighted sigh before adding, “I say, rather corking surprise to find one subject in which my knowledge surpasses your own.” 

At this, my gaze shot directly back to the expression of my employer, taking note now that the amusement I had noticed earlier had not abated, but rather it had amplified tenfold, growing from a twinkle in his eyes to a wide grin on his lips and a tilt to his head. He was laughing at me. 

So that was it. He had caught me out, and now all of the respect and authority I had so carefully cultivated in Mr. Wooster’s mind over the years was to be undone in a single mistake. I considered if it might not seem too abrupt to give notice, considering the likelihood of losing my hard-won comforts, and kept the venom out of my voice as I answered him.

“I apologize, sir. I endeavor to keep as informed as possible for your sake, but clearly I have failed. I will remain more vigilant in the future.” 

“Now, Jeeves.” Mr. Wooster sighed out, “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant, well, it’s bally odd, me explaining things to you for once.” 

“There is no need to spare my feelings, sir,” his pity was more an insult than his amusement, “I have clearly failed. Now, if that will be all-” 

“Jeeves.” The stern tone in his voice was unfamiliar enough in this cacophony of unfamiliarity that it stopped me short. “I have clearly acted quite the ass in not at least telling you to expect Toddy and Father for tea. Would you, in your infinite patience with the young master, muster up the feudal spirit to allow me to effect a reconciliation by explaining the posish?”

It was then, looking at Mr. Wooster’s pleading eyes, that I uncovered yet another addition to the mountain of revelations my employer had kept hidden until now. Not only was he very earnestly attempting to placate me, feeling that he had wronged me by not sharing this family secret, but he had absorbed enough of my own knowledge of psychology to deduce that this placation would best come in the form of presenting me with an opportunity to acquire strategically useful knowledge. 

Bertram Wilbeforce Wooster was well meaning and strategic. Which meant I was in far more danger than previously imagined. 

“Yes, sir.” I gave into the temptation, situating myself near the door in preparation for his explanation. 

“You may want to sit down, old fruit,” Mr. Wooster gestured to the seat near his bed, “This may take a while.”

“I am content to stand sir.” He looked about to argue the point, but conceded.

“Very well, Jeeves, but don’t blame me if you take another fall.” His usual petulance had returned as he settled in, returning us to our typical repartee. 

“Well, I’m not too sure of all the details, mind you, as the bulk of it happened before I or Toddy were born, but the matter is that he and I were, more or less, adopted.” I fought the urge to sit down with all my will. 

“Sir?”

“A well kept secret, I assure you. Only known by Father, Dahlia, Toddy, and self. Oh, and, well, you, now. See, we were born to Father’s cook, but the poor woman died in childbirth. And, well, the two had a certain level of camaraderie, so, when Thomas and Bertram alighted on the world and were passed round like hot potato, Father decided he would take us in.”

“But, sir-” I began to inquire.

“Ah, well, Jeeves,” Mr. Wooster held up a hand, “Father and this cook had already conspired before to escape from Agatha’s insistence upon finding a suitable fiancé for him. He claimed he had fallen for a Thweepwood, which I believe was technically her name, and she posed as his ever sickly wife when Agatha came to visit while they were both free to associate with others as they wished. After she died, it was only too simple to claim that his ever-sickly ‘wife’ had given birth to twins and, in the strain of the ordeal, passed away.” I endeavored not to let myself become irritated at my employer’s correct guess of my question, as well as his smugness at his own father’s cleverness. I mostly succeeded. 

“Well, after that, it never really came up again until Toddy began displaying signs of the Wooster family eccentricities in spite of the adoption. That got Father all worried, leading to our beginning as he thought he had infected us, or, rather, Toddy. He ended up sending us to Eton because of it, when we were ten, and well, that turned out a right mess-”

“I apologize, sir,” I stopped him short, swallowing my pride, “You continue to refer to an eccentricity of the Woosters, but I am sorry to say I have little idea of what that might mean,” I stiffen again before adding, “In this instance.”

“Ah.” Mr. Wooster paused, “Sorry about that again. Well, we have these powers, you see. Or, some of us do, I don’t. But Toddy does, as does Father, and I think Dahlia and Agatha might have a few.”

“Powers, sir?”

“Oh, well you’ve seen it, Jeeves!” Mr. Wooster’s left hand gesticulated wildly, even as the other calmly ran a head through Sunkist’s fur. “I mean, aside from Toddy’s corking canine ca-life-whatsit, how did you figure that my aunts continue to change appearance so easily without anyone mistaking them for other people? I mean to say, it’s an ability far too many of the gentry seem to have nowadays.”

“Change appearance, sir?” At my questioning, Mr. Wooster’s jaw went slack, and I felt a now uncomfortably familiar feeling creep over my body. 

“I say, Jeeves- you don’t mean to say you’ve never noticed?” Thankfully, by now, I was able to recognize his tone as fascinated rather than mocking. “I mean, I had always figured you were just being polite, one doesn’t like to pry after all.”

“I regret to say, sir, it seems far more has been slipping my notice as of late.”

“Well no matter. In short, their abilities have to do with manipulating themselves, while Father and Toddy’s have to do with manipulating the world around them, that sort of thing.”

“And you have none, sir?”

“Ah, well. Erm. No.” He flushed slightly in embarrassment. “I never developed them, much to the disappointment of all.”

“I see, sir. None whatsoever?” I cocked an eyebrow. Admittedly, this was cruel of me, but I felt the need to regain control. 

“No, Jeeves.” He wilted, looking away from me and towards the empty chair, shoulders slumped forwards, and I knew I had stepped over a line.

“I apologize sir, I-” I regained my composure, walking over and sitting in the earlier proffered chair, “I interrupted your story. What happened at Eton?”

“Oh! Right, well-” Mr. Wooster sprang to attention, shame replaced by excitement. “It was a rotter of an idea in the first place, given Toddy had only ever interacted with adults, self, and Angela. Wasn’t quite prepared to play with other boys. Shy, you see, and you know how children can be monsters. Some sniveling blighter told the head boy about Sunkist, and Toddy got expelled. This, and with Father’s growing business interests in the Americas, it made sense for Toddy to go with him to Philadelphia, and then New Mexico. I, meanwhile, was having a corking time at Eton, and didn’t want to leave, so it was decided that I would stay behind, Christmas with my aunts, and summer with my father in America. That’s how I knew about the flat in New York.”

“I see, sir.”

“Agatha has never really forgiven Father for going, nor particularly liked Toddy, until he graduated from Harvard. Until that point, hard as you may find it to believe, I was her favorite nephew.” 

“One doesn’t like to display one’s disbelief, sir, but the revelation is...striking.” I found it difficult to believe Mrs. Gregson could be in the possession of a favorite nephew.

“Rather hard to believe the old crone could have a favorite, I agree. But the fact is, once Toddy went off and got himself a respectable job as a scientist working for father, he became the next in line for her...regard, you know, what with the engagements and all, and so he’s been in danger from her ever since, hence the secrecy last night. Under no circumstances is she to know that he is in the vicinity of Europe, alright Jeeves?”

“Most definitely sir.” I rose, now knowing the stakes and thus transformed from confused to determined, “I shall set to the day’s preparations.”

“Oh one more thing, Jeeves.” The voice behind me quavered. 

“Yes, sir?” I asked, without turning around.

“I hope you won’t think your employer dreadfully boring now, in comparison to his relations?”

I turned, and saw Mr. Wooster wearing the most pleading expression I have ever seen on him, more so than on any event in which unwanted betrothal has ever caused him to seek my mercy. He genuinely thought that I could ever grow bored of him. 

My heart, reader, was melted for a moment. 

“Of course not, sir.” I answered with a professional smile, dashing out the door before remembering one last duty I had to perform. 

“Oh, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves?” I tried to ignore the boyish grin now spread across his face. 

“Mrs. Gregson called to say she would be calling on you this afternoon.” Said boyish grin slipped off of my employer’s face, replaced by a devastated frown which he subsequently triturated into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I think canonizing the actor changes is my favourite thing I’ve ever done   
> 2) Yes, Sunkist is a zombie in this. We love him.  
> 3) Jeeves is unfeasibly gay and has never felt less comfy than when Bertie has known something he didn't.   
> Any other questions, please comment below!


	4. Dashed Awkward, That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie visits the Drones Club. Honoria hates her cousin and so do I. Aunt Agatha creates a solution for her various relations.

There’s this thing called foreshadowing, a lark in mystery novels, where unfortunate events are preceded - if that’s the word I want - by some sign of ill times, usually a storm, or a letter from a dowager aunt. Heroes in these stories always get a chill up their spine and it’s all treated as a rather rummy affair. Frankly, though, I think it’s a corker. It allows upstanding gentlemen like self to see ill fate coming and step out of its way before it hits. Or, at least, that’s what I was thinking as I told Jeeves not to wait up and headed out to the Drones. 

You might think it awfully unfeeling of me to leave him to face my Aunt Agatha alone, but the woman is a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, and I was not going to risk letting slip my brother’s return to England by allowing myself be ballied around by her guilt tripping about having raised me. Better to make haste to the Drones for a snootful and leave aunts in more capable hands. After all, if Agatha is a force to be reckoned with, then Jeeves would constitute a whole bally army. 

As I said, that’s what I was thinking. The bally trouble with real life is that one cannot  _ always  _ count on foreshadowing to be so rummy obvious as a storm, as I walked to the Drones in a perfect glow of sunshine, helping to ease my sleepy mind after the abrupt wake up this morning. Awfully rummy of life to leave a man completely unprepared for the proverbial storm awaiting him inside, I should think.

The source of this storm, dear readers, was none other than Tuppy Glossop, who was seething into his lunchtime brandy. You’ll recall, we had just solved a dispute between old Tuppy and my cousin Angela the previous day, so to see him now, growling as he downed his chicken like a dog was rather an unpleasant surprise, and not just for the sight of it. It felt horribly like I - or maybe Jeeves, to give proper credit - was that Michelangelo chappie and had just had that statue lark thrown in with the after dinner waste. 

“What ho, Tuppy!” I what ho’d in a soupy tone, “What has you back in the metrop so soon?” I stood next to him at the bar and ordered a brandy of my own, hoping to get my brain on right.

“Your blasted cousin, that’s what! I go to all that trouble winning her back-”

“Steady on, Tuppy-” I tried to interrupt to remind him that if it hadn’t been for myself and Jeeves he would still be moping in Kent.

“-And then she has the  _ gall  _ to say our engagement is ‘too unstable to ever work in a real marriage’ and that she ‘doesn’t know if she could stand to be around me for that long.’ Honestly! What hurtful rot!” 

“Now, that doesn’t sound at all  _ like  _ my cousin Angela. Did she really say all that to you?”

“Oh, no, not to my face. The treacherous tart-”

“I say Tuppy!” Now, that was a step too far! Calling one’s cousin a- a  _ tart,  _ really!

“Don’t ‘I say’ me!  _ She’s  _ the one who went and said all that to her mother behind her back with  _ crocodile tears  _ in her eyes trying to sabotage our wedding. Well, I wasn’t about to have that, so I burst in and told  _ them both _ in no uncertain terms that if she was going to play fair, I wasn’t going to play at all, and I left. Got in this morning.” 

“Tuppy you can’t honestly-” I sighed and rubbed my temple, silently asking myself  _ why  _ I was friends with the cad. “You didn’t  _ honestly  _ take that much ill to Angela telling her mother she wasn’t quite ready to marry you  _ in confidence,  _ did you?”

“Well what does  _ in confidence  _ have to do with it? Aren’t man and wife supposed to have no secrets between them, and all?” If Tuppy had no secrets from Angela, I’d wager the answer  _ vis a vis _ wedding would have been a flat no, and not just uncertainty.

“It  _ means-”  _ The old fool, “It means, she was likely trying to  _ puzzle through it in privacy,  _ before doing something she’d regret.” I searched his face for any kind of understanding, despairing as he took another snootful of his brandy.

“Well it was still hurtful.” He pouted, “Not to  _ mention  _ all the things she said after I went in. Honestly, Bertie, you’re being even less sympathetic than I thought you would. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?”

“I’ll have you know, I had a late night visitor last night, after getting home rather tired from fixing  _ your  _ mess.” I grumbled out the last bit, but my rather ungentlemanly remark seemed unnoticed for now. 

“Oh really,  _ who? _ ” Tuppy groused. I was about to answer him, before I had the thought to check around for auntly spies and leaning in so as not to be heard anyway.

“Toddy, actually” I said quietly, perhaps innocently believing Tuppy to be trustworthy in this at the least, and it wasn’t like Agatha and he would cross paths soon, let alone that she would care what  _ he  _ had to say. 

“Who?”

“My brother, you ninny, he stopped by on his way to Brinkley.” Honestly.

“Ah, that strange, slow git with the dog?”

“I say, Tuppy, now you  _ really  _ go too far!”

“What? He was  _ strange!  _ Never made eye contact, only really spoke to you and the instructors, and that  _ dog-” _

“Really, Tuppy, Toddy may be eccentric but he’s not  _ strange,  _ and in no sense has he ever been  _ slow.  _ He’s a might quicker than you are, that’s for certain.” I was starting to get up in arms about the whole thing. Toddy was a bally Physicist! I was pretty sure he was, at least. Tuppy barely knew how an engine  _ worked _ . 

“Well I  _ never.  _ You’re as rude as your cousin, Bertie!” Tuppy huffed out. “I’m going to tea with my  _ relations.  _ At least  _ they’ll  _ be sympathetic! Blood’s thicker than water, after all!”

“Go ahead, Tuppy!” I called after him, feeling rather rummy myself as he stormed away. It was only then that the  _ second  _ storm in the Drones club was audible, that being the rather dour proverbial raincloud hung over the head of one Gussie Fink-Nottle. 

“What-ho, Gussie, what’s the issue with  _ you  _ then?”

“Oh, Bertie!” The newt-fancier bemoaned, “I was in here earlier and heard about that trouble with Angela, but when I told Madeleine about it, she ran off to comfort her at Brinkley Court, and left me in the dust-”

“Honestly, Gussie, you must learn to survive without the woman  _ sometimes.  _ Enjoy yourself!” Now  _ this  _ was something I could handle.

“But-”

“No buts!” I scooted next to him, “I am not letting my aunt-free afternoon be spoilt by you  _ or  _ Tuppy. Two Martinis, please!” 

\--

Honoria Glossop did not much like her cousin Hildebrand. He was loud, rude, ate like a pig, and acted like a pig in practically every other way. He’d been cruel to her since they were kids, usually bringing friends into it as well. She couldn’t see why any woman would want to marry him. Even still, she resented Angela for breaking things off.

After all, why should  _ Honoria  _ have to put with him?

She thought as much as her mother laughed and placated her way through Hildebrand’s rants. It seemed the cur had nothing he  _ didn’t  _ want to rage against, save the soup. She knew she didn’t strike people as the pinnacle of temperate femininity, her mother often told her to have more ‘situational awareness’ but  _ honestly,  _ how was she expected to continuously find new ways to equivocate? Why was that what Glossop women had to do?

The whole thing gave her a headache, slowly building until at last she stood up and slammed her hands down on the table. 

“I’m headed off to Brinkley!”

“Why, Honoria, why would you want to do that? You haven’t even finished your  _ tea-”  _ her mother fussed. 

“No, but if  _ any  _ of us are to have some peace, then  _ someone  _ has to give Angela a piece of their mind, and I nominate myself.” Honoria felt sick as a pash of cousinly gratitude flashed across Hildebrand’s face. 

“Now isn’t that just the picture of familial loyalty! Haven’t I always said you were my favorite cousin, Honoria?” Honoria knew for a fact that the lying swine had never once said as much, but she didn’t contradict him. “Nothing like Bertie, that ungrateful  _ rotter. _ ”

“I’m not doing this for you, you lout.” She muttered bluntly, ignoring her mother’s wince as she slapped away Hildebrand’s hand. “Wait-  _ Bertie?”  _ He was about the only of Hildebrand’s daft friends she could stand, as even if he was spineless, he was the type to actually be polite to her. 

“I told the ungrateful  _ lout  _ about my troubles with his cousin, and all he could do was drone on and on about how his  _ twin  _ was back in town, and visiting Angela - rubbing in my face that his dratted cousin had  _ broken my heart and sent me away from the place!” _

Now that was interesting. Not the drivel coming out of Hildebrand’s mouth, that is, but Honoria had never heard of Bertie having a  _ twin... _ maybe this trip could be entertaining as well as get her rotten cousin away from her. 

\--

Agatha Gregson was in a rather foul mood as she left her incompetent nephew’s apartment in Berkeley square. To begin with, said nephew had not even been present when she called on him, no doubt drinking himself even further into the bowels of ignorance. It seemed she could not even count on his valet to keep the foolish boy in check. Though she supposed she could not feign surprise, as the impertinent man had asked Mrs. Gregson where she was going with a smug kind of look on his face. She had always thought him far too bold for his station. 

It seemed he was also less competent than last they had spoken, as McIntosh had instantly set about barking on her arrival, which must have meant something was afoot, as her dog was trained better than that. However, as she had little time before her train left for Market Snodsbury, she could not properly interrogate the man.

Then there was the crisis taking her to Market Snodsbury and the Travers estate in the first place. This morning, she had heard through a variety of social ties that her niece, Angela, the proper engagement of whom Mrs. Gregson had always been content to trust to her sister, had once again fallen out with Hildebrand Glossop. This, she reasoned, had to be the final straw. Dahlia had clearly lost control of her daughter at this point, if, the very day that Angela had been reunited with her fiance, she had driven him away again. This would not stand, and if Mrs. Gregson had to interfere to preserve the honor of the Wooster line, then she certainly would. However, it weighed on her that her sister was truly so incompetent at keeping one girl in line. 

As her taxi rounded the bend to the station, she mulled further over this conundrum. Clearly, the match with the Glossop was not going to work, but at this stage, engagement to any other peer of the realm might not be realistic, Angela having spent so much time on another man, after all. 

She was still turning the issue over in her head as she stepped out of the taxi and into the path of Honoria Glossop. 

The two said their hellos and ‘what brings you here’s, only to discover that they were both on their way not only to the same train and compartment, but also to the same Market Snodsbury. 

“I was hoping I could talk to Angela Travers.” Honoria explained as they hopped into a train carriage already holding a young woman, whose face Mrs. Gregson could not see as it tilted down and into a book. Honestly, young people were so easily bored. Mrs. Gregson could not stop to lecture her, however, as Honoria’s words sparked a stab of anxiety in her. Honoria was, after all, a Glossop. 

“What business do you have with my niece?” She kept her tone to a practiced sternness.

“Well, we knew each other back at school, to some extent, and I know that Hildebrand can be difficult sometimes so I...um…” She trailed off, which seemed out of character for such a spirited girl, “I wanted to try and ameliorate things between the two of them.” That was at least somewhat of a relief. 

“If that’s the case you can stay up with me. She’ll likely throw you out.” The young woman looked up from her book, and Mrs. Gregson was surprised to find yet another peer of state, Ms. Florence Craye, smiling politely back at her. “Sorry, Mrs. Gregson, I was so caught up in my Spinoza, I did not recognize your voice at first.” She turned to Honoria “And you, Honoria Glossop, correct? Weren’t you at Chetlenham with us?”

“Yes I was,  _ thank you for remembering _ .” Honoria smiled in return. “I suppose you, too, are going to talk to Angela about this.”

“I am. I must, after all, stand in solidarity with her.” Despite the utter wrongness of the concept, Mrs. Gregson had to admit that Florence’s stalwart nature in this was admirable. 

“Of course.” Honoria replied politely. 

Had Mrs. Gregson been more aware of the worth of other’s perspectives, she might have noticed that a simmering tension had bubbled over the room. Had Honoria been more concerned with this at the time, she might have realized that this was because Florence was suspicious of her intentions towards Bertie Wooster, and, by extension, Angela. Had Florence a better memory, she might have realized it was also because herself and Angela had not exactly been kind to one sporty, outspoken girl at Chetlenham Ladies’ College. 

All told, none of them could make the necessary adjustments, as a fourth member of their little band emerged. 

“Terribly sorry,” said a light, lilting and dreamy voice at the door to their carriage, “But is this the train to Market Snodsbury?”

“Yes of course it is, did you not hear the  _ conductor,  _ child?” Mrs. Gregson was already lecturing as the group turned to see Madeline Bassett, another Chetlenham Alum, daintily climbing into the carriage, with some slight help from Honoria. 

“Well, I did, but there was a little girl selling  _ these _ ,” she held up a handful of light purple flowers “And I simply  _ had  _ to get them. But when I turned around, I got all confused!” Mrs. Gregson and Madeline missed the fact that Florence rolled her eyes. Honoria did not. 

“Does this mean that you’re headed to speak to Angela as well?” Honoria asked politely. 

“Yes, of course. We were close friends back at school, after all, so when I heard from Augustus that she and Tuppy were having trouble, I simply had to go and comfort her!” Her voice rose up in a piercing almost yelp-like sound. The young lady simply had to learn to pull back her tone. “I don’t remember  _ you _ being close with her, though, Honoria. What brings you to Brinkley Court?” She tilted her head. 

“She comes on behalf of her cousin.” Florence informed. “For what good that will do.” It was then that the train began to rumble away from the platform. 

“I wouldn’t say  _ on behalf of _ , I just wish to...help her understand a perspective.” Honoria clarified. 

“Oh, that’s rather nice of you.” Madeline smiled blithely. “What about you, Mrs. Gregson, Angela told me you don’t often visit Brinkley Court.”

“No, however circumstances suggest that my presence is required.” Mrs. Gregson replied flatly. 

“I expect the current guests at Brinkley have something to do with it as well, yes?” Honoria queried. 

“What do you mean by that, child?” Mrs. Gregson rumbled.

“Well, just that Bertie’s brother is visiting, isn’t he?” The question was met with intense and surprised exclamations from the assembled ladies. The younger two began asking questions amongst themselves of who this brother was, how they, especially Florence, who had at one point been engaged to Bertie for several months, had never heard of him. 

Mrs. Gregson, however, began looking about the carriage, at three incredibly eligible ladies of the gentry, easily excited by an unknown, especially an impressive one such as an accredited physicist. 

A wide, wolfish grin spread across Agatha Gregson’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TUPPY GLOSSOP HAS NO RIGHTS and this whole thing reeks of gender.


	5. Toddy's Afraid of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has a nightmare and gives his cousin some advice. Bertie has a bath and gives his Valet a bit of a view.

I’m running down a darkened hallway. I can hear a pained yelp in the distance, and it eggs me on faster, my bare feet slapping against cold wooden floors, not caring about splinters. These halls all look the same.

“S-Sunkist?” I call out, my voice reedy with fear, like a kid’s. I am a kid in this moment, I realize, reaching only half as tall as I usually do. My feet start hurting, from all this running around, and it’s cold. It feels like it’s been hours and I still haven’t found Sunkist. 

“Sunkiiist where are-where are you?” My voice climbs into a whiny panic. Why did Birdie have to tell the other boys about Sunkist? I asked him not to…

I wake up with tears still on my face, and scramble in the dark of the drawn curtains to try and find him, try and remind myself it was only a dream and that Sunkist will never be in that situation again. I can’t find him. I reach forward to his usual place at the end of the bed only to find an unfamiliar duvet. My breath starts coming in short gasps again, unable now to continue calling for Sunkist.

“Yo, Tommy, you good?” Benrey’s voice comes from somewhere above me, floating down until he’s kneeling beside me on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I ca-I can’t-” Between my stammer and my shortness of breath I can’t get the words out, “Where-where is. Where is Sunkist?” His expression seems to falter a bit and my panic increases. 

“Wait nononono,” He must see my panic, “It’s just he’s not here. He’s with your uh. Brother remember? It’s all good.” Right. I left Sunkist with Birdie to avoid setting off Angela’s allergies. Right. 

Unfortunately, even as my brain rationalizes, my body still feels like it’s in meltdown mode. I can’t stop shaking, crying, or wanting to curl up and stop perceiving things. 

“Hey, hey, it’s. It’s okay.” I can hear Benrey soothe, “Do you want. I can use Sweet Voice if you want or-oh! Wait I have an idea.” He gets up and moves over to the closet, which I suspect he rifled through while I was asleep. He pulls out a giant furry coat which looks like the one Birdie got the last time he came through New Mexico. Weird that it was left here, I think, as Benrey lays it across the foot of my bed. “This might be close enough. Try petting it”

I do as told, and it does feel, texturally, like I’m running my hand through Sunkist’s fur, even if it came from a completely different, unidentifiable animal. 

“That helps.” I smile “Though it’s not-not exactly the same as petting- as petting Sunkist. A bit too cold.” I admit.

“True, true.” Benrey looks off, face blank not with boredom but with deep thought. “Oh!” Something occurs to him as he shoots a blurred, orange beam at the coat beneath my hands, warming it up so it almost feels alive. “Howsat?” He grins lazily. 

“Better.” I smile again. “Thanks Benrey.”

\--

By the time I’ve calmed down another hour or so has passed, and late afternoon sunlight streams comfortingly through the windows in the hall leading to the study. I feel tired, but also compelled to move, excising the last remnants of the dream from me. Normally I would just walk in circles around my room, but I need more light than that. The study is as good a place as any to be walking to, so I open the door on autopilot, planning to make a few circles and then walk right back out.

My plans are very quickly stopped by a figure reclining on one of the small couches, feet up and a small book of poetry in hand. Her nose scrunches up a bit, and I realize she hasn’t noticed me.

“Angie?” I ask, slowly approaching the couch so I don’t startle her. Angela’s not easily startled, but I’ve heard it’s polite. Either way, her face shoots up with a huge smile in response

“Toddy! I almost forgot you were coming to visit!” She pulls her legs in to make room for me, sitting sort of side-saddle. I fall into the seat a bit, fine motor control dulled by nerves and fatigue. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine.” I reply automatically, “How’re you? I heard about the - your troubles with Tuppy, that soun-sounds really difficult.” Her smile falls immediately as she sinks further into the couch. 

“I suppose Mother told you to help, since we only just got help from Jeeves and Bertie.” 

“A little - Just a little bit yeah.” I confess, “Do you-do you want my help?” Angela laughs a bit at that, “What’s so funny?” I ask, with something welling up in my gut just a bit.

“I’m sorry Toddy it’s just- I forgot how direct you could be.” 

“Oh.”

“No, no in the best of ways!” She corrects herself, “You see- I do appreciate Bertie and Mother trying so hard, as well as Jeeves. But, they’ve never once  _ asked  _ me if I wanted to get reengaged with Tuppy. They merely assume whatever spat led to the fracture was some momentary hysteria, quickly fixed by a clever solution. Even when they take my side in the argument itself, they always seem to think I’ll be happier if I’m with Tuppy.” 

“Would you? Be happier with Tuppy?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

“I don’t know!” She tosses her book onto the table in front of us and puts her hands on her face. “I mean, he’s plenty funny when his needs are being catered to, and no one challenges him, and we certainly do have a similar sardonic sense of humor, which is why we argue so often. I just question if that’s enough to constitute a marriage. Because the absolute  _ minute  _ he stops feeling absolutely perfect he explodes. Imagine living with someone like that for the  _ rest of your life!  _ I don’t think I could even talk to him about it, as he would just say I was being  _ cruel!”  _ Her breath comes out in a heavy gasp as she finishes, and she looks vaguely queasy. 

“Angie are you- are you okay?” She holds up a finger, breathing deeply until her 

“Yes I’m quite alright. I simply lost track of myself for a moment.” She smiles blithely, but the queasy look still remains.

“You know-you do know you don’t have to lie to me, right?”

“Neither do you.” She snaps back immediately, “You’ve been shaky and vague since the moment you walked in here.” 

“Oh! Uhm! I just. I just miss Sunkist a lot is all.” It’s not technically a lie, not having Sunkist around  _ is  _ making things worse for me, and she knows I get antsy without him, but I don’t have to go into the root cause of that. 

“Oh, yes, terribly sorry about that. I was so excited to see him again, too.” 

“When did these allergies develop, anyway?”

“Well that’s the strangest thing. See, I’d told Tuppy I’d quite like a hunting dog of my own, one like the ones Mother keeps at the kennels, and around two weeks ago he actually did buy me one, which, in hindsight, was rather sweet.” She wavers a little, “But when he presented it to me, I just came over with this horrible bout of sneezing and coughing, and had to immediately go inside. I was sick for three  _ days,  _ and when I finally recovered and went to see him, he  _ insisted  _ that it couldn’t possibly have been the dog, and refused to apologize. So I ended it.”

“That’s awful!” My mouth opens a bit in my horror. 

“It’s such a pity, too. I’ll never be able to hunt with Mother, now. Remember when we were eight, you two were over for a visit, and I got so upset that Mother  _ still  _ wouldn’t let me go with her, even after your Father invited you two along?” She looks off in reverie.

“As soon as you mentioned it Aunt Dahlia and  _ our _ father said we were too young, too.” I point out.

“Well,  _ yes,  _ but it’s the principle of the thing, you know? I was so upset, but you both kept me company, and we climbed up on the very edge of the bridge and dared each other to jump off, or stand on one leg, or jump up and down?” She smiles a bit at the memory.

“Bertie was crying by the end of it.” I add on, remembering how Sunkist had licked him as he pleaded with us not to get our heads broken.

“But he never actually left. You both went to such lengths just to cheer me up, because you  _ knew  _ how much I wanted to hunt with Mother, and how unfair it all was.”

“Of - of course we did!” I smile back at her, “You’re family, of course we were going to cheer you- cheer you up.”

“Well of course I understand  _ that _ , Toddy. I merely wonder if anyone, Tuppy or otherwise, will ever understand me as well as you two do.”

“Oh I’m uhm. I’m sure  _ someone  _ \- someone will-” I stop short when a thought suddenly comes to mind. “Maybe that’s it!”

“What do you mean?” Angela’s smile is replaced by confusion. 

“Well, your whole conundrum is that you don’t know how or if you can live with Tuppy when his behavior is so changeable, and you can’t talk to him about it, so what if you talk to someone who- who understands him well enough, and make your decision from - from there!”

“Well I suppose that  _ could  _ work, but who could I ask?”

“Does he have any family that you know from some-something other than him? A sibling or cousin, maybe?”

“Well, there is...I did go to school with his cousin Honoria, but we don’t exactly. We aren’t all that  _ close,  _ you see.”

“Then  _ get  _ close! You don’t have all that much to- all that much to lose from just-just asking.” 

“I suppose that could work.” She smiles again, and we share a moment of happy communal silence. 

This silence is immediately disrupted as Seppings, the butler of the house, steps into the room. 

“Miss Travers, Mr. Coolatta, I’ve been sent to tell you we have guests.”

“Guests?” Angela’s voice upturns in confusion, “Who? It’s - not Tuppy is it?” I freeze up a bit in fear at the notion.

“Not Mr. Glossop, no, Miss. Lady Travers asked me to inform you both as the group includes some of your school chums, but also so that Mr. Coolatta would have a chance to hide.”

“Hide, from who?” Angela asks again, before quickly realizing with a choked “ _ Oh.”  _

I suppose I’m going to be afraid for a while to come. 

\--

After a long afternoon of soaking poor, forsaken Gussie in orange juice and attempted gin, followed by an evening disturbed by a rather arduous row between Sunkist and McIntosh, I decided I deserved a good long soak of the old Wooster corpus. As I bungled about in the bath, Jeeves floating about nearby, I pondered a bit on Tuppy’s earlier rudeness in referring to Toddy as strange and slow. Not much result was coming of all this pondering, but it was weighing heavily on my mind. 

“Sir?” Jeeves’ voice roused me from my thoughts, “You’ve just received two telegrams.”

“Who on earth from?” 

“One is from Mrs. Travers, the other from Mrs. Gregson.”

“I say! Does no aunt hold respect for a good bath in her heart? Know they not the adage cleanliness is next to godliness” I pontificated longer than usual, for benefit of Jeeves as entertainment, and for self as necessary delay. 

“Difficult to say sir. Shall I read them to you?”

“Yes, yes, start with the one from Aunt Dahlia, as well.” Best to take the middling news before the terrifying. 

“Very well. ‘Absolute rotter, can you do nothing right? Come to B.C now, fix your mess.’”

“Of all the bally nerve! You don’t think she blames me for the new dissolution of Angela and Tuppy’s nuptials, do you?” I noticed a slight wince on Jeeves’ part as I mentioned the new imbroglio. 

“Unlikely, sir, as she only recently sent this telegram.” He replied, stoic as usual, “Shall I read Mrs. Gregson’s message?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered absentmindedly, still stuck on the puzzle of this sudden hostility. After a minute with no further noise from Jeeves, I turned to find him staring rather uncharacteristically agog at the other telegram.

“What is it, old fruit?”

“I apologize, sir I was caught off guard by the contents. I shall be better directly. The message begins ‘My Dear Boy-’” I got a sudden chill despite the warm bathwater. “‘Come soon to Brinkley, have a job you will enjoy.”

“Oh dash it all- wait Brinkley? But-” The heart froze in abject terror as I flung my body out of the bath, forsaking the offer of a towel and racing towards my closet to immediately pack a bag. “Jeeves” I yelled, “We’re off to Brinkley!”

“Sir-”

“Jeeves there’s  _ no bally time!  _ If  _ she  _ is there, and  _ Toddy  _ is there, then there is danger, we have to leave  _ now _ !” My breakneck pace was halted by his hand alighting gently on my shoulder.

“We will be better equipped to handle the situation if we are calm, and if you allow me to handle things through the proper channels. She cannot force an engagement on him overnight, correct?” As he spoke, voice full of a gentle thingness, his other hand did an equal amount of the gentle alighting and took the dress shirt I had given a proper mangle. 

“More or less, I suppose but- blast it, Jeeves, if she hurts him in the meantime, even if she can’t get him attached to some toothsome filly, it will be  _ my fault. I  _ will have been the one to have allowed the secret to slip out, and it will be ages before he can come visit again!” I felt a mounting dread as I thought of the many times in our early years when manners lessons had left Toddy a wreck. Even if she’d softened as he grew, the dashed awkward business would leave a mark for sure. 

“Sir- with all due respect, you are unlikely to have been  _ able  _ to prevent Mrs. Gregson from traveling to Brinkley, as you did not know-”

“But I might have.” I interrupted, “If I hadn’t biffed off and left you to field the Bane of the Woosters for me, she might have told  _ me  _ where she was going, allowing you to be frightfully adroit and head her off at the pass.” Jeeves turned a rummy page on his face at this. Not the typical stuffed frog expression, but rather a newer, softer visage - if visage is the word I want. 

“I am sure there will still be time for that, Sir.” His calm surety did a small amount of comfort. “Now, I believe there is a sleeper car departing in an hour. I will make the necessary arrangements for our travel, and in the meantime you may dress yourself at your leisure.” It took me a few moments with the final statement rattling about in my head before I registered that Jeeves was very close to me while the fullness of the Wooster corpus was on display. While he had, of course, been in the room while I was in the bath, this matter was a ways outside the feudal spirit. 

“Oh! Yes, rather. Thank you, Jeeves.” I smiled, abashed and immediately pulling away for fear of him getting the wrong idea. He was, of course, a corker in looks, lodestar of my life, and the rest of that biz, but one never wants to give an incorrect or uncomfortable view of the posish.

“Happy to serve, Sir.” His smile still had that rummy odd thingness to it as he left me to my closet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE BACK. I've been excited for this chapter for a while. Tuppy isn't even in this chapter and he still has no rights, but ANGELA SURE DOES. Also, just warning that the updates may drop off in the coming months because I'm back at school. We'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. OKAY. LISTEN.
> 
> \- This was conceived from the idea that young Hugh Laurie looks like Tommy  
> \- Also, very little is said in the Wodehouse stories about Bertie's parents  
> \- so I decided, hey why not G-Man of HLVRAI fame?  
> \- For non-Wooster fans: this is a HLVRAI 1910's AU where the Coolattas are Brits and G-Man has siblings and was born on earth  
> \- For non-HLVRAI fans: This is an AU where Bertie is adopted, and where his dad is an eccentric and eldritchally empowered being, who runs an american company known as Black Mesa (basically a prelude to Nuclear Power)  
> \- for the one hypothetical individual who ALSO likes both: Hi! What's your name?


End file.
